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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28175037">O Holy Night</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/fireandhoney/pseuds/fireandhoney'>fireandhoney</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes &amp; Related Fandoms</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Childhood Memories, Christmas, Christmas 2020, Christmas Advent 2020, Christmas Mass, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mentions of Death, Mentions of religion, mentions of sad childhood, midnight mass</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 20:07:57</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,912</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28175037</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/fireandhoney/pseuds/fireandhoney</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on the prompt "Attending Mass"</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Johnlock, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>O Holy Night</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“No. Absolutely not.”<br/>“Oh come on, Sherlock.” <br/>“No.” <br/>“Stop being such a whiny-” <br/>“I am not whiny!” <br/>“Then stop complainin-” <br/>“This is ridiculous, John! Me, in a church? <em> Me </em>!”</p>
<p>“Oh, you don’t have to worry, getting lit up and bursting into flames is just a legend…”<br/>Sherlock shot him a deathly glare, and John shrugged, sighing. <br/>“It’s only one evening, Sherlock.” <br/>“You know bloody well what I think of this religious nonsense.” <br/>“I do! Sherlock, believe me, I know your thoughts about ‘the giant Daddy in the sky’, as you so lovely referred to him last week. This is important to me.” <br/>“Well, what’s important to me is not promoting the idiotization of our population.” <br/>John dropped into his seat and ran a hand over his face, defeated. Sherlock’s shoulders slumped and he turned to look out of the window. He didn’t answer, staring at the passersby. John decided to once again drop the subject, maybe he could try again another time. </p>
<p>Another time turned out to be two days later. John walked into Baker Street after a very long, tiring day at the surgery and sank into his chair by the fireplace. Sherlock was working on an experiment in the kitchen and he raised his head, observing John. The doctor looked exhausted. Sherlock had tried to convince him to take time off work, to take time to deal with… sentiment, and heal, but John had refused, arguing that he needed to keep himself busy. Although Sherlock wasn’t the best to comfort someone: actually, he had never successfully done so, but he wanted to try. He placed his equipment back in the cupboards and headed to their living room. He stood by the window and picked up his violin. He adjusted it for a moment, then took a deep breath and started playing <em> Silent Night </em>, a carol he knew John appreciated. Slowly, John opened his eyes and looked up at him, a small smile appearing on his features. He sat straighter and removed his coat, his head swaying gently side to side with the melody. When Sherlock finished the song, he placed his violin carefully against his music stand, and gave a short bow, making John laugh. He smiled too, happy that he’d been able to help. </p>
<p>“That was lovely, Sherlock. Thank you.”</p>
<p>Sherlock’s cheeks coloured a light pink at the praise. He seemed in a good mood, and John decided to seize the opportunity. He kept his tone soft and friendly. </p>
<p>“I am not asking you to believe any of it, Sherlock. I’m not even asking you to participate. Just… be there for me?”</p>
<p>Sherlock sighed, turning around to stare outside. How could he say no to John, especially now? This was going to be mental torture, but of course he was going to go. </p>
<p>“Alright.”</p>
<p>John looked up, surprised. “Yeah?”</p>
<p>Sherlock nodded, reaching down to grab his violin. He closed his eyes and started playing <em> O Holy Night </em>. </p>
<p>Christmas Eve came and the moment Sherlock had been dreading for more than a week was upon them. They spent the day enjoying the quiet peace of their flat, undisturbed as Mrs Hudson had left the day before for her sister’s. Sherlock played more Christmas carols and John hummed along, wrapping gifts and keeping the fireplace alit. They got Angelo’s takeaway for dinner and ate in a comfortable silence, even though the tension was gradually becoming unbearable inside Sherlock’s head. When John refilled his glass of wine for the third time, he noticed Sherlock’s furrowed brows. <br/>“Are you okay?” <br/>“Hm? Oh, yes.” Sherlock shook his head, sliding on his usual public mask, but John was having none of it. He titled his head to the side, clearly not believing Sherlock’s blatant lie. </p>
<p>“Sherlock.”<br/>“I’m okay, it’s fine.” <br/>“You haven’t had that face up with me for months. What’s going on?”</p>
<p>Sherlock breathed in, trying to find a way to avoid the discussion, but he couldn’t think of anything. </p>
<p>“Don’t worry about me, John. Today’s about you.”<br/>“It’s about Church then,” John noted, and continued. “Are you really that opposed to the idea? I’m not going to force you to come if it’ll make you miserable, Sherlock.” John’s tone was compassionate, but Sherlock could also read the obvious disappointment. He shook his head, making the wine twirl in his glass and focusing on the movement of the liquid. </p>
<p>“It… It brings back bad memories.”<br/>John’s eyebrows lifted, in clear surprise. <br/>“I thought you said you’d never been.” <br/>“I said I hadn’t ever felt the desire to attend. Which is true.” <br/>John rolled his eyes, reaching forward to place his hand on Sherlock’s fingers, stopping the nervous playing with the glass. Sherlock looked up and their eyes met. <br/>“What happened?”</p>
<p>Sherlock’s breathing was shallow and shaky, embarrassed. </p>
<p>“We used to go, when I was a young child. We didn’t believe in any of it, of course, but it was a nice tradition that had been part of the family’s rituals for generations. Plus, my father was a big fan of catching up with the entire neighborhood every once in a while. We went until I started school and met all the other kids.They quickly realized I wasn’t like them, that I was weird. I… uhm…</p>
<p>John gave his hand a squeeze and Sherlock took a deep breath. </p>
<p>“I tried to make friends, but I understood that they preferred to make fun of everything that wasn’t <em> normal </em> with me. I ended up alone, always alone unless someone was being forced into teaming up with me, and that was worse. School was long and boring and I knew everything there was to learn before the year started, and the other kids didn’t appreciate it. Made them feel dumb, I guess. I wanted to learn more about other things. I’d been catching and dissecting insects and arachnids already, and I’d been wanting to move to animals. So when, on my way back to school, I found a deceased kitten, I picked it up and carried it with me. I brought it in my bag all the way to class, thinking I could use it to learn more about mammals and their anatomy. Unfortunately, one of the other students saw me and she screamed, going to tell the teacher. Immediately, I was sent to the Principal’s office and categorized as a “freak who murders animals for fun”. They expelled me, and the news quickly carried around the small village. The Holmes were banned from religious services, and my parents took the decision to homeschool me - honestly the best decision they’ve ever taken - until secondary, when they sent me to a private boarding school far away from there.</p>
<p>Sherlock inhaled sharply, just now realizing he’d been out of breath the entire time he was talking. His eyes were glazed over and he couldn’t really see, and it took him a moment to blink until he managed to focus on John. The man looked worried, and sad, but also something else that Sherlock couldn’t quite place. It wasn’t exactly pity. </p>
<p>“Sherlock, I am so sorry. I didn’t know.”<br/>Sherlock shook his head, ashamed of the speech that had come running out of him. </p>
<p>“It’s okay, John, don’t worry about… any of it.”<br/>John’s finger was drawing small circles on Sherlock’s hand. <br/>“Sherlock…” He waited for Sherlock to be looking at him. “Listen to me. You are not a freak. It doesn’t matter what all those other people said, you are not… a freak. They’re intimidated by you, by your brilliant mind and your amazing brain. They feel inferior - because they are - and it makes them angry and insecure, but it doesn’t make you anything less than extraordinary, yeah?” <br/>John sighed, his fingers inching closer to grab Sherlock’s wrist. Sherlock looked down at their hands, feeling his heart beating fast in his chest. John followed his gaze and slowly started pulling his hand back, realizing how far he’d gone and suddenly scared he was crossing a line. But Sherlock didn’t want to lose the contact, grateful for this anchor. He turned his hand palm up and curled his fingers, holding John’s before he could leave. John stopped, observed the situation, and gripped Sherlock’s hand as well, confirming that he was going to stay. </p>
<p>The atmosphere was charged and heavy as they looked at each other, neither daring to breach the quiet. And then, at once…<br/>“Maybe-” <br/>“Do you-”</p>
<p>They both stopped, John chuckling, until Sherlock allowed “You first.”</p>
<p>“Well, I was gonna say that maybe tonight is a way for you to reclaim the family history? Make new memories?”</p>
<p>Sherlock shook his head. “Today isn’t about me, it’s about you and your mother.”<br/>John nodded. “You are right, it is about my mother. She would have wanted me to go to Mass to honour her and reminisce about the times we went all those years ago. But it’s also about me, and moving on from the past to find peace in the present. And for me, that includes you.”</p>
<p>Sherlock swallowed, the implication of John’s words not lost on him. He looked down and noticed the time on the clock behind John. <br/>“Then we better get going.” <br/>John turned around to check, gave Sherlock’s hand a tight squeeze, and got up. They cleaned the rest of the food quickly, got dressed in their coats and scarves and hats and headed outside. </p>
<p>The street was covered in a thin blanket of white, snow falling delicately from the sky. Sherlock hailed a cab and they rode in quietude. When they reached their destination, they entered the church and took places in the back, wanting to avoid attention. The service started and they listened, John humming along with the carols and joining in with some prayers. Sherlock stayed respectfully silent, but as the event progressed, John noticed the detective was moving his hands along with the music and he was almost sure he heard a mumbled “amen”. Sometimes during longer moments, Sherlock leaned in closer and whispered his observations and deductions about the people around them. Some earned a nudge in the ribs from John, but others elicited a small giggle and an amused, whispered “Sherlock!”</p>
<p>And eventually, the wine got to John’s head and he started dozing off, his eyes hardly staying open and his head lolling to the side. Sherlock moved closer, letting John rest against his shoulder, and he smiled, his cheeks warmer than they’d been before. When it was finally time to leave, he woke John up gently, the doctor startled to wake up in a church until his brain unfogged and a small laugh escaped him. They stood together and made their way out, rushing slightly to beat the crowd and avoid swimming between the sea of people. Once outside, John’s laugh turned brighter and fuller, and Sherlock looked at him, confused. </p>
<p>“I’m so sorry I dragged you to this, Sherlock. It was long and dull and I fell asleep.”<br/>Sherlock smiled, and quickly moved to grab John that was leaning dangerously and on the edge of tumbling over. <br/>“I don’t mind, John. It wasn’t all that bad.”</p>
<p>“Thank you for… for being here.” <br/>Sherlock nodded his acknowledgement and wrapped an arm through John’s to help keep him upright. He hailed a cab and they headed home, and as John dozed off against Sherlock once again in the backseat of the car, Sherlock decided that perhaps going to the Midnight Mass could become one of their Christmas traditions. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This prompt didn't inspire me much, but I wanted to give it a go anyways. I think it turned out a valuable short story, and I enjoyed having to think of Sherlock's relationship to religion.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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